It was my spot. I had found it. In the middle of amber waves of grain beneath spacious skies. A secret, secluded spot far from the congestion of Campbell Road. I enthusiastically spread the word. Willing to put it to a democratic vote but lobbying for this utopic plateau, I encouraged more and more friends to join us.
I went early to stake a claim. Afraid I would be obscured by office buildings sprinkled here and there or lost in the vastness of wide-open spaces, I told my friends to look for my flag. When I saw that thousands had arrived early, I felt like Randy Quaid. Now we're really havin' a party! Surely my friends would understand.
They began to trickle in. Blankets, lawn chairs, baseball and glove. A frisbee or football tossed around. Someone searched in vain for patriotic music on the jam box. No Prince or Rod Steward for this occasion. Toddlers rolled down the grassy slope, too young to know or care about Texas chiggers. The sun setting in the west provided relief from the sting of patriotic sunburns. A chance meeting with friends from church. Pass the cookies and lemonade!
My sheepish expression cleared. My friends' loyally decided that despite the crowd, the weather was perfect, the children were healthy and we were together. As dusk approached, adult voices quieted and even the children seemed to sense something special was approaching. Like looking over the shelves of candy and gum in a drug store, the anticipation was the reward.
The first hint that something was awry was the closeness of the hissing and the uncomfortable pressure coming from beneath the blankets strewn across the grounds of this office complex. Having been informed that July Fourth was the anniversary of the Battle of Vicksburg, it seemed appropriate that the battle cry was yelled by one of our Mississippi native.
"Run! Run! Sprinkler system!"
Those across the parking lot held their sides and rolled with laughter as they watched us scramble for higher and dryer ground. Their laughter turned to screams for help when they too were attacked by Ninja Sprinkler Systems fifteen minutes later! With Huckleberry Finn-like charm, some of the young ones playfully turned a sprinkler head toward a seemingly understanding young father. The wrath of God came down. The Baby had gotten wet. The Baby must not have had its First Bath yet. I can assure this novice parent that the Baby will survive the Sprinkler System of '89.
And the band played on. And those on the ninth hole did, too. I knew those who golf on Christmas, Easter and their mother's birthdays but to tee up on the Fourth? By now it seemed irrelevant that a fully lighted driving range was open for business just a few hundred feet in front of us. And they never even looked up when the sky filled with the colors and sounds of America's birthday,
As I walked home, promising to come back the next day for my car, I didn't look up as I passed my friends stuck in the congestion of thousands of vehicles. I did look up when i noticed card games in the back of station wagons, strangers sharing food and conversation across the median and children singing.
I looked the other way when I noticed the Ice Cream man in his little white truck and the apron-draped vendors selling neon necklaces. And I look forward to next year. Memory-makers. An affair to remember. Baseball, fireworks and sprinkler systems!
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